


A Day at the Beach

by CynicalMistrust



Series: The Pattern of Feathers [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beaches, Cas snark, Existential Angst, Fluff and Angst, Foot Fetish, Foot massages are awesome, M/M, Ocean, POV Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalMistrust/pseuds/CynicalMistrust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>~Part 6 of Pattern of Feathers~</p><p>Sam, Dean, and Cas have been through a lot together. Now that things have settled down and they are no longer faced with a choice between their lives or the world, maybe they can start to put their lives back together again.</p><p>~Things have calmed down and Dean finally gets his beach time with Cas and Sam.~</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day at the Beach

Cas may have been alive for countless centuries, but he hadn’t been able to say he’d really lived until recently. Even with all the deaths and breakings and being graceless and powerless, despite the doubts and mistakes, the past handful of years had been the best so far.

The past months had been… a hurricane, but somehow they’d managed to grasp onto something close to normalcy now. He could hear Dean and Sam upstairs, bickering over something, from where he sat in the large bay window, watching the waves.

The house was large and airy, all white walls and waxed wood floors. He was fairly certain they weren’t renting it so much as… what was the word, squatting in it until the owners returned. He didn’t care either way, and cared far less when he’d seen the look in Dean’s eyes the first night they stayed there, the three of them sitting in cheap lawn chairs on the beach, drinking beer, watching the play of moonlight on the crashing waves. It was a far cry from the dead, borderline enraged look he’d seen growing stronger each day when he’d possessed the Mark. The way Dean had been the past few days alone made him think there was still something left to hope for.

He turned his head to the stairs when he heard the stampede of footsteps coupled with the scrabbling sound of paws on the wood. Sam had found a golden retriever on the beach and had insisted on keeping it, claiming it didn’t have a collar so it had to be a stray. Dean hadn’t taken much convincing, to both their surprise. 

Sam disappeared out the side door with a grin and a wave, going off for his morning run.

Dean filled his usual cup of coffee before nudging Cas’ legs aside so he could sit in the window across from him, mirroring his pose with his back against the wall and a leg drawn up to rest his arm on. His eyes flicked over Cas, raising an eyebrow as he took a sip of his coffee. “What’s with the outfit?”

Cas glanced down at himself, shifting as he tugged at the white button-up shirt. It was his usual one, but he’d left it unbuttoned and without the usual coat and tie. The slacks were gone, replaced with the pair of swim trunks he’d been forced into when they’d insisted on swimming in the ocean. He’d thought he’d feel more exposed with the lack of clothes, but it felt… freeing. He looked back up at Dean, in his usual layers and jeans. The only thing different with Dean’s attire was he was barefoot. “Should I change?”

Dean shrugged, taking a larger swallow of coffee and turning his attention out the window.

Neither of them spoke; they didn’t have to. Just the two of them in a companionable silence they hadn’t been able to enjoy much since… years ago. Purgatory hadn’t counted; too much running and violence, with the brief moments of rest between the hunting and being hunted. The silence now was comforting, a soothing balm after the madness and heartache.

Cas took the opportunity to study Dean, taking in the relaxed slouch and the way his forehead was tilted toward the glass, toward the ocean he’d spent hours in, toward the receding figure of Sam on his run. There was a tiredness that lined his eyes though Cas doubted that would ever fade.

“Cas, can I ask you somethin’?”

Cas tilted his head, entire focus shifting to Dean’s lips as he spoke. “Of course.” When Dean didn’t speak again right away, he turned his attention to the rest of Dean’s face, trying to catch his eyes, but Dean was too focused on the waves with an expression that suggested he was wondering if he should put his thoughts into words after all. It was a rare expression, but Cas had seen it before, and knew if he waited Dean would eventually continue.

Dean turned his cup between his hands a few times, toes flexing against the window seat. “Do you ever regret pulling me out of Hell?”

Cas stared at Dean, the question igniting a flame of anger inside him. How could Dean even think that? How could he think after all they’d been through - but that was it wasn’t it? He felt the anger vanish in a rush, leaving behind an empty sensation. He’d been human enough he could recognize the self-loathing expression. If he hadn’t pulled Dean from the Pit, none of this would have happened. No Apocalypse, certainly no Leviathans or Purgatory, no Mark of Cain, no Darkness. “I regret a lot of what I’ve done, but saving you has never been one of them, Dean.”

Dean glanced down at his coffee with a breath of a laugh. “That just makes it worse… How many times are we going to try to destroy the world?”

“Maybe it’s our destiny.”

Dean glanced up, finally meeting Cas’ eyes. “You believe in that crap?”

Cas looked out the window. _Did_ he believe in Destiny? Fate, of course, existed, but the Fates controlled deaths, not the course of people’s lives, the choices they made. He believed God still existed, still intervened when He deemed it necessary, but The Plan had long since gone into the fires. How free was free will? How much of this had been planned or coaxed into motion? He wasn’t sure which was worse or easier to deal with - that God wanted this to happen, or that they’d abused their freedom of choice and caused it all on their own. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah… me neither.”

The silence returned, wrapping around them in a dreary blanket, but it was still an improvement on how things had been before.

Cas glanced down as Dean shifted, stretching his leg out and invading Cas’ side of the window by resting his foot against Cas’ leg. He stared at the foot a moment, intrigued since he’d never really noticed Dean’s feet before. A quick glance upward showed Dean’s attention back on the ocean and Cas tilted his head before wrapping his fingers around the top of Dean’s foot, unable to help the smile at the strange sound Dean made.

“What are yo-” Dean started, but his words were cut off as Cas dug his thumb into his flesh, and something that would have been a squeak had his voice not been so deep escaped him. “Cas…”

Cas curled his other hand around Dean’s foot as well and pressed both thumbs into the muscles, watching with a smug sort of satisfaction as Dean grasped the side of the window seat and let his head thud against the wall, eyes shut tight. “Does it hurt?” he asked, though he knew Dean’s expressions well enough by now to know it didn’t.

“Shut up.” Dean hissed through his teeth and let out another low moan. “Down and left. Yeah, right there… Oh shit.” His toes flexed and curled by turns as he pushed into Cas’ fingers. After a moment, he made a sound like a rumbling purr and relaxed into the wall.

Cas massaged the spot for a few long minutes before exploring the rest of Dean’s foot, enjoying the sighs and soft reverberations of pleasure. He liked seeing Dean relaxed outside of sleeping or in the aftermath of the few occasions they shared pleasure together. His hands drifted to Dean’s ankle and calf, shifting to slide them up Dean’s thigh.

Dean cracked his eyes open, the green of them darkened in bliss. “That was awesome,” he said, wrapping an arm around Cas as he leaned into his chest.

“I’ll do it for you again later,” Cas said, lips brushing against Dean’s jaw before nibbling on his ear. It wasn’t long before they were kissing and he tasted coffee and the lingering aftertaste of Dean’s minty toothpaste. He wasn’t sure how long they sat there enjoying the taste and feel of each other, but he could have sat there forever and would have tried to had Sam not returned.

“Guys, seriously. Get a fucking room!”

Cas pulled away with a sigh and shared a look with Dean before they both looked at Sam and gave him the finger.

“Yeah, real mature you two.” Sam shook his head as he made his way upstairs.

Cas slipped off the seat, savoring the way Dean’s fingers slid along his chest as he stood, and picked up the forgotten coffee cup to refill it. He stopped as Dean caught his wrist.

“Later.” Dean stood and took the cup, setting it back down. “I’d rather get a room.”


End file.
